Out of Play

“Yeah? Well have a whole lot to say to you.” She sticks her chin out, but she’s about six inches shorter than I am, so her action impresses me a bit because she’s not backing down.

This whole situation is… It’s just so cheesy teen movie ridiculous that I laugh.

She reaches out and pushes my truck door closed, stopping my laugh. Whoa.

Anger presses in where the hurt and fear and worry has been. “What do you want, Rebecca?” I’m tired and I’m thinking and feeling way too much for one person.

“I don’t know where to start.” But her manicured brows are pulled together in determination, and I’m not sure if I want to run away or wait this out.

“Why don’t you start with why you’re ruining your shoes just to talk to me?” I offer.

“Oh, shit.” She stares at the ground for a moment.

And I know this is a jerk move, but I’m completely out of my comfort zone and I’m ready for it to be over. “Anytime today would be cool.”

Rebecca bites her lip again. “I’ve lived under your shadow with him since we started dating. He talks about you all the time. I keep waiting for the day when he tells me he’s in love with you. I’ve wanted to talk to you about it a million times, but I knew you’d probably laugh at me.”

“Or give you a black eye.” I keep my face straight, being kind of a bitch again, I know, but I don’t know how to talk to her. I’ve always hung out with the boys—been the hockey girl. And to be honest with myself, I also want to see her reaction.

She takes a deep breath but holds her ground. I feel a random twinge of admiration when I really don’t want to. “I really love him. A lot. And he was the one who asked if there was any chance I’d want to go to Michigan or Washington because he was leaving for hockey, and I never thought I’d get a shot at someone like him.”

What? I lean against Bitty and take in Rebecca. Smooth curls today. Eyes huge with makeup. Dressed… Well, like she actually gives a crap. I figured a girl like her would expect to get a guy like him. I don’t like that Rebecca’s not fitting into the neat stereotype I put her in before now.

“And I keep waiting for it to all be some big joke, and he keeps coming back to me, and when he got detention over punching that locker during your fight, or whatever that was… Again. I thought he was about to walk away.” She sniffs a few times before taking even breaths, and I almost tell her to hit something because it works better, but I hold it in.

Mitch walked away from me. For her. What does she want from me? She’s got him already. “What do you want?”

“Please talk to him. It’s making him crazy that he hurt your feelings. He said you needed help last night and he didn’t know until it was too late. I know you don’t care what things are like between Mitch and me, and I also know that me telling you to talk to a guy that I wish you weren’t close to could seriously backfire…” Her words tumble over each other, and she actually looks serious. She cares if Mitch and I are getting along. Why is she being nice? Mitch’s non-reply to my text stung, and now the niceness of Rebecca, and how I pushed away Bishop, and Gramps’s episode all well up inside me. I can’t cry in front of her. Can’t.

I open the door of my truck. This is it. I have to get out of here. I should tell Rebecca she’ll never have to worry about me and her guy, because last night was the final bit of proof that she definitely comes first in his world.

“Please, Pe

“I gotta go,” I say as I climb in my car.

“Yeah. Okay. Just… Please think about it, okay?” She looks down, and I shut the door between us, needing to be home. Away. On the ice. Anything.

Only now I start to get what Mitch sees in her. She’s smart. Probably doesn’t give him half as much shit as I would. And she wasn’t afraid to come talk to me—that’s something.

Plus, if I’m being honest with myself, my heart doesn’t feel like it’s cracking because I’m in love with Mitch—it’s that we don’t have the relationship I thought. He’s leaving me behind, and like so many things in my life, I have no say in it. That’s not Rebecca’s fault, even though I want it to be.

I roll down my window. “I’ll talk to him, okay?”

Her face snaps up, and relief fills her eyes. “Thank you, Pe

I open my mouth to say something else, but I don’t how to do this girl talk stuff, so I mumble a “sure,” roll up my window, and drive away.

The drive home takes forever, and I realize it’s because I’m looking forward to seeing Bishop.

And then there’s this wave of realization over how narrowing my sights on Mitch, who would never have me, has made me probably miss a lot of opportunities to be around kickass guys who maybe would.

I wonder if Bishop will be up for something today. Snowmachining or maybe he’d play drums for me, or we could go hang in the upstairs room or work on my car. As soon as I hit the driveway, I sprint to his cabin. Because I’m not the girl for most guys—not the kind of guys who would want to deal with me, at least—but he was the one who kissed me.

He pulls open the door with a smile and there’s a girl behind him.

A girl.

I swear my gut hits the floor. She looks like… A girl’s girl. A real girl. Like Rebecca but blond. And in every other way, the opposite of me. I can’t breathe. No air. Chest still being pulled apart. Mitch saw me lose it today, and Rebecca nearly did. I don’t need this.

“What’s up, Pe

“You’re busy. I’ll go.” Wow my voice sounds way more normal than I thought it would for someone who feels like she’s drowning. Now I need to move, but I can’t. It’s like someone’s put me on pause and slowed my world down—as if I really wanted this moment to last.

“I gotta take off for a bit.” He shuffles his feet, looking nervous. “If um…Gary calls will you cover? Say I’m with you and that I fell asleep in front of the TV or something?”

I’m so stu

“Pe

“Yeah. Fine. I have homework.” My feet feel weird in the snow, like my body still isn’t working right, and I begin to wonder if I’m totally overreacting.

Though, at this moment, I don’t care because I have no idea how to shake this feeling.

I get that I walked away from him last night, but I expected he’d try again. That I’d at least have a chance to explain why I ran away. And now I’m offering to be his alibi so he can…go somewhere with a real girl. If we weren’t making shitloads of money off these two—and if he hadn’t helped me last night—there’s no way I’d help him out right now. And I’m not totally decided that I will.

After what feels like an obscenely long walk across the yard, my insides chewing themselves up, I finally make it to the house and pull in a breath deep enough to force my chest to loosen. I’m such a raging idiot. Bishop. And me. The guy oozes something indefinably incredible—why on earth would he want me? Guys want “real” girls, even when they tell me that tough girls are hot. Because it’s pretty obvious to me right now that I’m not what guys want.